


The Chronicler

by baroque_mongoose



Category: Girl Genius (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen, Tea and Sparkiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 18:02:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12940731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baroque_mongoose/pseuds/baroque_mongoose
Summary: So who actually writes the Trelawney Thorpe "penny sparklies"?  Let's go and meet her!





	The Chronicler

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously, I have absolutely no idea if this is canonical or not; indeed, I half suspect Mr Wooster writes the things himself. Even so, I couldn't resist the idea of writing two late nineteenth-century steampunk ladies having a (mostly) cosy chat in a tea room, so here they are for your reading pleasure.

“What can I get you, miss?” asked the waiter.

The Hon Celia Jarvis-Metcalfe looked up. “A pot of tea for two, please. With lemon. And...” She hesitated. Trelawney Thorpe was very fond of the gingerbread in this establishment, and if she wanted to eat, it would be a little rude not to keep her company; and the Hon Celia wanted a buttered scone at this moment. However, she was one of those women who worry about their waistlines, and if Miss Thorpe should happen not to be hungry, then the Hon Celia was quite prepared to forgo her scone in the interests of keeping a waist not very much thicker than her neck. It was a dilemma, and Miss Thorpe was not yet here to solve it for her…

Oh, here she was. She came sailing gracefully through the doors of the tea room, beaming fit to light up the whole of London. “Celia, dear!” she exclaimed. “Are you ordering? I’ll have gingerbread, please.”

Well, that solved that one. The gingerbread, and the scone, were duly ordered, and the Hon Celia resigned herself to becoming marginally less wasp-waisted for a little while. As the waiter bustled away, Miss Thorpe sat down opposite her friend, still smiling broadly.

“And how’s my chronicler?” she asked, a little archly.

The Hon Celia smiled back. “Very well, thank you. And how is my Dr Johnson?”

“In fine fettle, my dear. I have met Lady Heterodyne, and she is coming to see my laboratory. Perhaps your next title might be _The Adventures of the Two Sparks_?”

The Hon Celia frowned. “That would rather spoil the continuity, dear. You know very well the format is always _Trelawney Thorpe, Spark of the Realm, and..._ ”

“But Lady Heterodyne is not just an ‘and’, Celia,” Miss Thorpe protested. “She’s said to be more powerful than I am.”

“Well… and do you like her, dear?”

“Enormously,” replied Miss Thorpe enthusiastically. “She is quite, quite charming. What’s more, she has brought three of her famous Jägers with her, and they are delightful.”

The Hon Celia’s eyebrows shot up into her hairline. “That’s not what I’ve heard about them.”

“Oh, it’s easy to see that they would be superb fighters,” Miss Thorpe replied. “But they are very loyal to Lady Heterodyne, and when she is in no danger they are very interesting to talk to. They’re very old, you see, dear. So the more intelligent ones – and that means two out of the three she has brought – have a huge fund of fascinating anecdotes.”

“And the other one?” asked the Hon Celia.

“Is called Oggie,” replied Miss Thorpe simply, “and is rather a dear. But I haven’t told you who else came with them!”

“I do believe I can guess,” said the Hon Celia. “Your Mr Wooster, I suppose?”

“There is really no need to take that disapproving tone,” said Miss Thorpe. “Yes, he was there; and, not only that, he’s missed me. He very nearly said so! My dear, I had to tease the poor man half to death to avoid making a complete exhibition of myself in front of Lady Heterodyne. But you really should have seen his face. There was no mistaking what was there.”

“Trelawney, dear, he’s a _spy_ ,” the Hon Celia objected. “A most disreputable occupation at the best of times; and you may be quite certain he won’t be faithful. You know as well as I do the reputation that spies have.”

“He is a special agent in the service of Her Undying Majesty, that is what he is,” replied Miss Thorpe, with considerable hauteur. “And, regarding his fidelity, do you not think I was able to get all the information I needed from the Lady Heterodyne and her other companions? One of them, in case you had forgotten, is Princess Zeetha of Skifander; and, bluntly, if she didn’t manage to seduce him, I’m perfectly safe.”

“And she didn’t?” asked the Hon Celia. “Did she try?”

“Apparently she does so as a matter of course. Things are… somewhat different in Skifander,” replied Miss Thorpe, with a delicate little cough. “But he turned her down. Most politely, I understand. And then she became… ah… unofficially attached to a certain Airman Higgs who is in the service of Baron Wulfenbach, and I’m sure all the men in the area were most relieved.”

“Or disappointed, dear. Depending on the men,” said the Hon Celia. “H’mm. So have matters reached the stage where I should be putting Mr Wooster into the stories?”

“Oh, my! Not yet, dear. And when they do… and I do believe they _will_ … then please keep things discreet. I do prefer to be family reading.”

The Hon Celia sighed inwardly. “You do know that _The Seraglio of the Iron Sheikh_ is still the best-selling sparkly in the whole series?”

“That was different, dear. I didn’t have to… ah… involve myself personally with the Iron Sheikh. I merely concealed myself in his seraglio. Although, even then, I’m still not sure you didn’t put in perhaps a shade too much local colour...”

“People _like_ local colour, as you put it,” the Hon Celia objected.

“How very vulgar of them. But, dear! I haven’t asked about your parents. How are they?”

“Oh! Well, Mummy thinks she might stand for Parliament. I hope she changes her mind, because if she gets elected we shall never have a moment’s peace; but you know how strongly she feels about things. And Daddy… I’m glad you reminded me, because he’s got a small favour to ask you. He’s bred the most magnificent new begonia strain, and he wants to name it after you, if you don’t mind.”

Miss Thorpe beamed. “Tell him I should be most honoured. What colour is it?”

“Purple. That’s why he wants to name it after you. You wear a lot of purple and you look lovely in it. You’re lucky, you know; it’s not my colour at all.”

“Ah, but _you_ can wear yellow, and hardly anyone can get away with that,” replied Miss Thorpe generously. “Speaking of which, is that a new hat?”

“Oh, you noticed! Yes; it’s from Blatherwick’s on Cadogan Street. Mr Blatherwick is quite mad, but he makes the most beautiful hats.”

“Spark mad, or just ordinary mad?” asked Miss Thorpe, with interest.

“Just ordinary mad, I’m afraid,” replied the Hon Celia, with a note of regret. “It’s a lovely hat, but it doesn’t do anything interesting.”

“H’mm,” said Miss Thorpe. “Perhaps he and I might team up. He can provide the style, and I can provide the… let’s see...” She reached for a napkin.

The Hon Celia knew exactly what to do in circumstances like this. She waved the waiter over, and ordered another pot of tea and a foolscap notebook. Granted, this was not something one could order in a normal tea room; but this was a tea room frequented by Trelawney Thorpe, and if they didn’t keep a good supply of notebooks on hand, it could get very expensive in terms of table linen.

There was not much for the Hon Celia to do during her friend’s spark fugue other than sip tea and make a few notes in her own little book. Fortunately, it did not last too long this time, and Miss Thorpe emerged from it with a triumphant smile and a notebook more than half full of extravagant millinery designs. “Cadogan Street, did you say?” she asked.

The Hon Celia nodded, wondering what on earth Mr Blatherwick would make of someone who walked into his shop with a hat design which, as far as she could make out from Miss Thorpe’s scrawled notes, incorporated a wireless antenna, a folding medicine cabinet, and a small kettle. And that was one of the earlier designs. They tended to get stranger as they went along.

“So,” she said, yanking the conversation back round to its starting point. “What are we going to call the next one?”

“Well, you write the things, dear, so it’s chiefly your decision; but I would like it to be properly respectful to the Lady Heterodyne. She’s a guest star, not a mere adjunct.”

The Hon Celia thought for a moment. “How about _Trelawney Thorpe, Spark of the Realm, and the Noble Guest_?”

Miss Thorpe beamed. “Perfect!”

“Excellent,” said the Hon Celia, much relieved. “Would you like me to come and pose as your assistant, or… do you think that might be too dangerous?”

“I think it might be too dangerous,” replied Miss Thorpe. “As I say, she is said to be more powerful than I am. The results of our collaboration are likely to be highly unpredictable. I shall naturally make sure you get all the details.” She paused, leaning forward across the table. “And, on that note, I’d like to invite you to re-think Mr Wooster a little, dear.”

“In what way?” asked the Hon Celia, puzzled.

“Well, dear, you think he’s not suitable for me because of his profession. But consider this. He spent quite some time working for Gilgamesh Wulfenbach. He is now, to all intents and purposes, working for the Lady Heterodyne. With the possible exception of Prince Tarvek Sturmvoraus, those are the two most powerful sparks on the Europan continent.”

“I’m not sure I see what you’re driving at, dear.”

“Well,” said Miss Thorpe. “Ar… Mr Wooster has spent most of his adult life working for powerful sparks. He knows exactly how unpredictable and sometimes outright dangerous we are capable of being. _And he’s still in love with me_. I’m a very lucky lady, don’t you think?”

That or he’s as mad as Mr Blatherwick, thought the Hon Celia, but she tactfully did not say so.

“And… about your father’s begonias,” Miss Thorpe continued. “Ask him not to name them just yet. You see… if I play my cards right...”

She paused. The Hon Celia waited.

“...then he may be able to name this begonia the Trelawney _Wooster_.”


End file.
